The Cold Snap of Fear
by TheBronzeLine
Summary: Louise has failed to acquire a familiar! This event alone has toppled a domino out of place causing Tristian to be torn apart as her neighbors hover like vultures. Even the sinister plans of darkened hearts are thrown into disarray. Halkeginia enters a new age of vultures picking it apart even the Elves are affected as if the unknown itself decided to play its cards. Cold, so cold.
1. Shadow of War

**Hello everyone!**

 **I present to all of you my first story in a very, very long time that I've been planning for quite a while.**

 **Dusting off my fanfic coat leaves me feeling a bit raw, but hot damn my ideas compared to back then are so much better now. That said, I would appreciate constructive criticism. No really, bring it. At me, you come bro.**

* * *

 **The Blackened One**

 _Prologue: Shadow of War_

* * *

I used to enjoy more simpler times as a boy sitting on my father's lap on cool nights. His face illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lantern as he read me stories at the backyard porch of a small, hidden cabin. It was a place where dad wouldn't have to worry about his title of "king" nor mine as "prince". It was just Dad and I. Though it was entertaining, it was also his way of gauging my progress in my studies. If I spent more time trying to comprehend vocabulary or grammar than enjoying the chapter he would move to a story he deemed easier and likely one read before. Other nights he would teach me the star constellations and the history and legends behind them. Or we would just gaze into the spring night sky blissfully enjoying our time together as we laid on cool grass, feeling the crisp breeze against our faces and watching the leaves rustle in the moonlight.

I used to wish for those simpler times to return. But if they did, I wouldn't have met my lover.

My **forbidden** lover.

My Father said to me that a few years after the summoning, " _Son, it's forbidden to love her._ " Well, he was right-still right. It introduced many complications, but they only strengthened our bond. In the end, Father was still the wise man I knew him though condoning our relationship really surprised us. I can't find fault in him, I honestly can't. Father was a good man-faithful husband and dependable patriarch.

Oh how much shame I have brought upon our family.

Could you still find it in your heart to forgive me? Forgive us?

My dishonor is your dishonor, my wise and noble Father. Forever will I exalt you. I wonder if there truly is an afterlife where you are looking at me right now, if you are able. Or if such a place exists at all. Regardless, I find myself unwilling to stop loving her. Nay, I refuse to stop. No force on this world will make me stop. I refuse!

But my love, would you?

No, don't question her.

She is unyielding, enduring, loyal and perceptive. It's how we have gotten this far.

But right now, I must focus on the next step of the plan.

* * *

In space there are many spectacular and terrifying things. Many cosmic bodies, celestial objects and all-consuming supermassive black holes. Planetoids harboring bacteria able to survive in extreme conditions devoid of any atmosphere. Alien worlds filled with water and submarine caverns, covered with lush forests and plains, bathing in fire and scorched rock and many, many other environments.

In space the question of extraterrestrial life was always present for those who wade through the vacuum. The truth is that there are many realities that can be traversed. Many civilizations had the opportunity to rise to the technological level to achieve such a feat. However…

Too many realities are now devoid of life.

Entire galaxies lost their natural order: planets and stars sent adrift, ecosystem destruction, stars once bright are now darkened, hard rocks with large cracks that let their former glory peek through as if they were looking in fear of what brought this twisted fate. If one was persistent you would see wreckage of ships. Maybe they belonged to different factions, maybe they didn't, but now they will remain here forever.

Forever in this dead space where there is no more life. No semblance of Mother Nature's touch. Nothing to exist in Father Time's watchful gaze. There are only graves.

Yet, there has been something that drifted through some of these patches of dead space.

Something that aimlessly drifts with intention. It's not lost: it's where it wants to be, as intended.

A meteor rushes through a patch of dead space with purpose. It's made up of extraterrestrial metals, molten rock and something else inside: a man. An extraordinary man that shouldn't be alive, yet here he is in a frozen slumber inside the meteor. Though it seems to be a simple meteor, it was extensively engineered to be a thermal and electrical battery for when he wakes he will have energy to draw upon and begin the first hunt.

 _I fought back with fiery ferocity. And now you run…_

If you map the trajectory of the meteor you will see several stars, moons, planets and asteroids big enough to pull his humble meteor in.

 _I have chased you into a corner, as I have planned. I watch you back yourself into a little space and I have only the faintest curiosity waiting to be entertained. How will you fight back now? You thought you were the victor, but only now do you realize my superiority._

But he's not headed to a moon or a planetoid.

 _I took a few steps forward. These steady steps grew into longer strides and I break into a sprint. You open your mouth to spit your venom and I duck, pivoting forward to transition into running on all fours. My armored hands dig into the ground just enough for to give me sufficient grip for a quick feint._

He won't be swallowed by a star.

 _I feel a gust of wind rush through this alien forest. Though the pores in my molten armor I can feel the wind drop the temperature on the surface of my armor. My feral ears atop my head orient themselves toward my prey._

 _My heart beats faster and faster in anticipation of the kill._

 _I charge at my prey, my eyes shining red and bathing my target in my light._

 _As I close the distance I smile wider and wider. A few lunges more and I'll be sinking my teeth into that bone armor. Three lunges distance. I open my mouth. I'm salivating. I want to taste your flesh. I feel a primal joy as I begin to savor the last moments before the kill. Without thinking I scream at my prey._

He will land on a new planet filled with life. A foreign planet where humanity exists. A world that harbors civilization and peoples wielding fantastical powers and abilities. Nations, territories and mere ideals divide the land in addition to the natural boundaries and their respective biomes.

 _Two lunges distance. My warcry reverberates against the thick, dark orange roots and the purple foliage. Blotches of their faded colors indicate decay or territory markings. It bounces back at me, doesn't sound normal to my species but it's normal to me. At this moment my prey decides to burst from its corner. We are lunging at each other. Our maws opened as wide as we can muster. Seems like it wants to repeat this mistake again._

It's a healthy planet.

 _So be it._

A world that will soon see history repeat itself and unfold itself in a new path.

 _I drop the metal shell into the volcano. The flames lick it as it falls as if to claim the shell as its own. I watch it sink into the magma and then I jump in._

And here he is as intended. The lone survivor continues to survive against all odds in spite of the difficulties-here he is. He shall continue to adapt until he dies. It his blessing, it is his curse.

* * *

Hours later, well into the evening I told Osmand to meet me at our...usual location.

"It wasn't magic, Osmand."

"Are you sure? You didn't mention that earlier."

"I suspect our secretary isn't who she claims to be."

"You caught on to that, hm?"

"Yes. No woman would tolerate your perversions without a greater reason. Or, she's into you: unlikely." A trace of a smirk creeps onto my face.

Osmond chuckles before saying, "Very astute of you, Jean." It makes me giggle a little bit. Just a little. Despite our age we're like two school boys enjoying our inside jokes. But now I must return to our discussion.

With a regretful tone I say, "Osmand, about Louise…" I watch his shoulders droop and deeply sigh.

"She must be expelled." He says slowly, his voice quivering.

We both stand in the darkness in silence and I speak softly, "She is a great student nonetheless."

"Indeed." As he replies with a sagely nod and says, "Could have had a bright future…"

"Such a disappointment that she may never begin her path to reach even a fraction of her potential."

He clears his throat before speaking again, "She will likely be married off to a nobleman like a commoner."

"If she's lucky."

"She won't be respected to the same degree."

"Unfortunate."

"Very."

It's a grim fate for a female mage especially at Louse's age. She will never have any opportunities for careers. Won't be recognized by the courts except in official capacity when Duchess Karin is involved. Can't receive any honors from the crown. Never have any political influence. She will be just another woman and her royal status will exist only as a hollowed title.

"I'll never believe she's not a mage. She **is** a mage. But…" I tilt my head down in shame.

"I failed her as a Instructor, Osmand. I should have tried other things instead of going by the policies of this joint program."

"You suspect she was a Void mage?"

"It would have been the most obvious thing to try."

There is a pregnant pause before Osman speaks again.

"Even if you were right, she has little power in the courts to protect herself." His tone was comforting, but firm.

I tell him, "Even if she was a Void mage, she wouldn't be able to handle the elevated position that would be bestowed upon her nowadays. She's too young and inexperienced"

"What have they done now?"

"You said it yourself. As we had predicted, it came true."

The mood became somber. But I perked up right away.

"I still have students."

"Lots of them. They're spoiled, stubborn, but still young and impressionable."

"There's still hope. I have to try harder."

"You mean _we_ have to try harder."

He brings up a hand to grasp my shoulder and firmly squeezes as he looks me in the eye with fierce determination. "Let's not lose any more."

I return the gesture with fire in my eyes.

"Absolutely. Good night, Osmand."

"Good night, Jean."

* * *

Elsewhere, in a deep hole there is a man in blackened armor sleeping. He dreams of past hunts, wonders and horrors. Recalling his experiences but not forming new plans for he has several courses of action he can take right away when he wakes. He is sure of himself and rightly so for he has lived in harsher environments than this.

Before the morning had started he went on his first hunt. When the sun's light breaches the delicate nocturnal tapestry the man will be far away. He will have melted and buried his meteorite and covered up as much trail as he could of his crash landing. The soil may seem to be a bit burned from him heating the earth and manipulating it so he covered it with more topsoil and rearranged the debris. Nobody will know what happened.

For now, his instinct will be enough...

Aye, thee people of false gods. Thee who is't berattle thy owneth and liveth in feareth, misprise and ign'rance. Prayeth in thy false faiths f'r the shadow of war hast ov'rtaken thee. Aye, prayeth to thy false gods because thee shall nev'r seeth thy w'rld the same way again.

Thee daws.

S'rpents.

Reap'rs of the earth and souls of thy neighb'r! Thee squand'r'd thy timeth and so instead of m'rcy 'r justice th're shalt beest retribution!

* * *

Author's Notes:

Yes, I used exposition to set up the stage. You damn well bet I'm gonna show much more than what I told. Now for those who can't read Shakespere or can but detect errors I used a website to translate from modern English to Shakespere. I saved the English version:

Yes, you people of false gods. You who abuse your own and live in fear, hate and ignorance. Pray in your false faiths for the Shadow of War has overtaken you. Yes, pray to your false gods because you will never see your world the same way again.

You fools.

Serpents.

Reapers of the earth and souls of your neighbor! You squandered your time and so instead of mercy or justice there shall be retribution!


	2. Ch1-The Wild Woods pt1

_"Man is by nature a social animal; an individual who is unsocial naturally and not accidentally is either beneath our notice or more than human. Society is something that precedes the individual. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god. "_ \- Aristotle

* * *

 **The Blackened One**

Chapter 1

 _The Wild Woods pt. 1_

* * *

Atoms. From electrons, neutrons and protons they become the building blocks of life in the conventional sense where physics and reality are married. These atoms come together to create all the layers of the atmosphere. The elements of hydrogen, oxygen and other elements can create the ideal gas mixture for Humanity and all other life that may exist on those planets. Nature, however, dictates the ratio of each element lest it may be poisonous to humans.

Friction. When two surfaces rub against each other for any given time. It is friction that ignites the meteor. Air molecules that resist the meteor as it grinds through the atmosphere. From friction comes heat.

And heat is one of the quintessential and universal forces from which all matter exists in time.

It is heat that wakes him; thawing his mind and body, and from his mind electrical impulses are sent throughout his body. Neural pathways that have been created and reinforced throughout his life are once again populated with activity. As he falls to the earth he is coming out of his slumber like a drug addict on acid. Many memories and the dream still fresh collide in his mind leaving him disoriented-but not for long for he must commune with the magnetic field the planet generates.

As the meteor cracks from the stresses of gravity and air resistance, multiplied by the speed of descent, chemicals react with the oxygen the very moment it makes contact with suitable atmosphere and sets the meteor ablaze. From the outside to within the core the heat travels as the meteor falls and breaks apart thus increasing the amount of fuel to be burned.

Combustion is quick.

Behold, a falling star bearing life in spite of all the trials and tribulations. Hear ye, life continues to fight against entropy. A testament of Nature's will to survive by any means necessary! Fear it, respect it.

And so The Blackened One awakens with the heat of creation once more! The heat seeps into the core and jump starts his crude life support system. His body ignites from within the meteorite as the external flames consumes oxygen and in this way he breathes. He becomes one with fire.

He reaches out with his will and feels the magnetic field form along the surfaces of the earth, but he suddenly detects numerous streams of electrons dashing downwards from random points in the sky below his position. The disruption of information makes him wary for there are now many distortions in his mental map. As a few seconds pass he goes below the altitude from which the electron streaks spawn.

He needs to know where he will land.

Though if it were in the middle of the sea, he could manage. It would just be another Tuesday for him.

The streaks of electrons intensify in quantity and quality, unfortunately he is unable to gather more information. The electron streaks connect with his meteorite and as these energies are channeled through him, his mind becomes filled with haze-the mental map is gone.

He is unable to gather more information from the planet's magnetic field.

Suddenly, the meteorite impacts a remarkably study surface.

The meteorite shatters.

As it fragments, air is drawn in from the vacuum within the meteorite. For the first time in a very, very long time the man is exposed to breathable atmosphere. The contents within his stone capsule are shattered from the impact. His body, no longer aflame, flails wildly as he falls faster and faster. Before he opens his eyes he impacts a wooden object and a loud **crack** echoes through the surroundings.

 **Get up**.

…

…

...

 **Move**.

Compelled by his instinct and experiences, the man awakens.

Dark color.

Wet.

Cold.

It's mud.

He lifts his head and with arms he pushes against the surface of the world.

Green blades.

Wet.

Green blades intersect with mud.

Grass.

The man looks towards the sky. He takes note of a peculiarly shaped hole.

Trees…

…

 **Safe**.

Breath, air.

Wet.

He looks up again and opens his mouth. His mouth is covered in pitch. He rinses out his mouth but still tastes ash and smoke. As the man observes his surroundings his mind is still swirling slowly towards a fully awakened state struggling to catch up with his body.

No light.

Wet from sky.

Hole in leaves, burning.

The sky roars, echoes.

He looks around trying to piece together his trail.

Smoke, embers.

Wet.

Humid.

He spots the remnants of his meteorite cluttered in many small craters scattered near each other. He rises from the mud and takes two hasty steps. He slips into a deeper puddle of mud.

He silently scolds himself.

Wet.

Wet.

Wet.

Mud.

Slip.

He steadily rises again. With large strides and heavy steps he safely makes his way to his meteorite, progressively heating the mud contacting his skin in preparation for hiding his secrets. As he reaches a large fragment jutting from the ground, he look up at its tip, then to the ground in a daze. The apex of the curve facing him.

The man steps around to see the opposite side, takes a stance and headbutts the fragment. It fragments further and now they lay in mud, their curvature allowing them to collect a minute amount of rainwater.

Under the cover of darkness and the brief flashes of lightning, he pushes the fragments into the ground while heating them. In doing so he forces more heat to transfer into the ground. He quickly smashes large portions into smaller portions so that a single hand can sink them into the ground. Mud and water expedite his task, making the earth soft as he expand the space between atoms with his heat. He doesn't stop until the elbow touches the earth, he will retract his arm and repeat.

In half an hour he will have buried the largest portion of his meteorite, sparing no concern for the rest. The embers are now extinguished.

Through all of this, the storm was loud and merciless-the man never stopped.

His mind took a while to catch up though.

Now he is fully awake.

With the exception of lightning, it is pitch black in this forest. The torrential downpour nullify all other sounds. All things considered he worked in preferable conditions. With his body covered in mud and earth he smells like the forest. Even his privates are caked in mud for he is naked, though he had to clench his gluteus maximus at certain moments.

 **Food.**

Satisfied one instinct, the next emerges. Despite the fact of barely being able to see one foot in front of him, he must hunt or die of starvation. The only silver lining are the flashes of light from lightning. With that in mind, he moves through the woods for prey he can ambush. It takes an hour of climbing, observing, exploring and waiting until he finally hears the sound of mud splashing and bushes rustling from below his branch.

 _There are people gathered. Their tools for hunting, they brandish. Parents and children stride through the alien prairies, passing on experiences. A daughter asks, "Mother, why not kill the prey we freely see? We can have food aplenty and our silos will be aptly filled."_

He wrestles with his prey.

Leaves block out the flashes of light.

Thunder roars and echoes through the forest.

Water runs all over the earth.

Blunt forces beat on his thighs, but he is unmoved.

The man snarls like a predator.

 _The Mother, aged and weathered, pours forth her wisdom. "Because we are not bound by instinct. We are not feral. We must be aware of what we do and the impact of our actions_."

He bites down on something hard.

It breaks.

His prey continues to struggle.

Hooves beat loudly against the tree trunk.

Another antler is caught in the man's mouth and is crushed in the darkness.

 _The daughter recalls past lessons and then thinks of their Leader. She asks, "But Mother, why does Leader behave like a feral animal? If we have mastery over ourselves, why does he indulge in his instinct?"_

He throws his prey against a stone, briefly illuminated.

Relocated, he has.

Flashes break through these other leaves and branches.

He charges.

His heart beats faster and faster in anticipation of the kill.

A primal joy rushes through him as his mouth opens.

" _Because it is his nature." The Mother sagely nods her head and shoulders a family heirloom: a HT-78e scout rifle. The elder Pathfinder looks through the sturdy scope and sees her quarry: blue skin, short peach colored fur, six legs and a narrow head. The digital lens reads "1246m". She aims upwards to compensate for gravity. "My grandmother would love to have this gun again. Her great grandmother didn't have scout rifles this good back in her day."_

He bites through his prey's skull and spits out shards of bone. He hits the skull again against his knee and more cracks form. He tears away the skin and the skull fragments slide off unto the bloodied bark, down to the redenned mud.

" _Katia," the Pathfinder begins, "it is because of his instincts that we're still alive. His instincts, tempered with wisdom and experience have lead us this far. He instilled in our ancestors the warrior spirit and to this day we dip into each other's fires so we may never burn out." The daughter became contemplative._

He sits on a surface in the darkness, his thirst and hunger are quenched.

His prey's blood drips from his lips, splattered on his face and body.

In his hands are new tools shaped from antlers of his kill, knapped and ready to kill and work.

Inside this cave, he recalls his past experiences.

As the rain and thunder echo into the cave, his hands shake.

 _The elderly warrior leans against a wall looking outwards into space. On a Observation Deck, he waits. The elder looks at the man's shaking hands and then at his own shaking hands before gripping his shoulders by crossing his arms across his chest. War has changed them both. But for the sake of their future, they made these sacrifices._

His hands shake in the darkness as the rain and thunder echo into his mind. The wild man sits and meditates in spite of his madness. He learns the tempo of the rain while his hands shake. His hands were shaking as he was burying his meteorite. His hands were shaking as he stalked and wrestled with his prey. He feels the rough edges he knapped as his hands were shaking.

The leaves shake with him as the gusts of wind rush through the woods

Inside the humid, damp cave he stares out.

He does not blink once.

A few hours later the downpour subsided and he rushes out of the cave and now moonlight pokes through the scattering storm clouds. Some time later the sun brings another dawn. The morning light greets the nocturnal cowl as they both dance across the sky like lovers, gently gliding in transition. The morning dew is greeted by many small mammals and creeping things of the earth. Rainwater's scent fills these wild woods in the first morning of Spring. The bustling wind heats up beneath the branches and coils in pockets before finding a way out.

" _How long?"_

" _Two-hundred-and-seventy-six years."_

 _The elder nods._

" _The next generation is ready."_

" _Then I shall taste their fire."_

 _The Leader walks out of the Observation Deck leaving the elder to continue polishing his trusty sidearm with delicate care. Every wipe of his cloth is nostalgic as he recalls his exploits with his family. He mutters to himself the Pathfinder's motto, "_ We always find a way home." _Though he did think of the planet he was raised on, he always thought of the Mothership as his home and Humanity as his family. He muttered to himself again, "We're all we have left." Despite all obstacles in his path, he overcame. Lived long enough to marry and procure offspring to carry on their legacy and increase the population thus increase their chances of survival. As he reflects on his life, he heard the doors open._

" _Yosef, you're going to miss the Inauguration Ceremony!"_

" _Alright woman I'ma commin'."_

 _Some chuckling is heard as the two leave the Observation Deck together hand in hand._

The man reaches above the trees to survey the immediate area. The morning sun is reaching it's zenith as noon comes closer. Crisp, mild wind calmly blows and the leaves barely rustle. Some scattered clouds here and there with big expanses of clear, blue sky. He sees many mountains and hills both near and far. Atop this mountain tree he looks towards the horizon and east of him is a castle, but to him it's just a dot.

It's a Romalian castle...

Now he descends from his branch, stealthily grips and swings from branch to branch and manages to eat a couple squirrels and birds along the way. Miles away from the crash site, he digs a hole at the base of the same tree he climbed. Gone is the mud, leaves and twigs and now replaced with ash to cover his body. For today, the Blackened One sleeps.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** For fuck's sake formatting was not cooperating with me this time.

Review Responses

xXgabeXx : I would say I'm sorry for disappointing you that the mystery man's name is not in this chapter, but I would be lying. Huehue. It's not very fun if I made the mystery cheap and revealed it so soon. ;)


	3. Ch2-The Wild Woods pt2

**The Blackened One**

Chapter 2

 _The Wild Woods pt2_

* * *

" _Let nature run its course." - The Leader_

* * *

A small group of people are running through dense foliage and dried mud. Small branches and twigs are snapped underfoot. Bushes are rustled and their delicate leaves break off, swept in the wake of their rushing bodies. They weave through low hanging branches and leap large stones which clutter this area of the humid woods. The wind picks up and the branches knock against each other and their trunks. Knocking sounds can be heard all around for miles for many of these trees have been hollowed out by insects and decay. The fungi can be seen replacing sections of bark and if one were to pull off the mushy mass you will discover a nest for all kinds of creeping things that dwell beneath the earth and inside wooden mass. The small group suddenly shifts direction from east to northeast. Their armor and weapons making chinking sounds as they run. Pots, pans, wooden stakes, hatchets, hammers and other camping items make clunking sounds as they're jostled on their backs.

Now they're slowing down and looking behind them every few trees they pass…

A screech from far away echoes and reaches the people. They spread out. Some kneel, pull their packs around to the front and pull out unusual tools. One climbs a tree with a rope in his mouth. If your eye follows the rope hanging from his mouth you will see something slim and long tied up with more rope and fabric.

One would wonder what they're doing and might assume they're planning a trap.

Well, maybe they will reveal their plan in the next minute. A squirrel sprints out of it's hole of a tree many feet above the people. Then it looks at the other person climbing a tree, a slim thing hanging by rope. From the slim thing came a drop of blood and when it was swung around and hit the trunk…two hollow sounds were produced.

Something or things were wrapped up and dripping blood. As far as the squirrel was concerned, blood is never good. Back into it's hole the squirrel goes…

* * *

Red eyes survey the landscape. Covered in foliage lies this aged super predator atop a hill. The eyes blink revealing a thin layer of soot on the eyelids. Lips maintaining their seal, the jaw is at rest. Legs spread a bit, arms outstretched.

He refocuses on the ancient castle.

He recalls the four bipedal entities that occupy that location. To call it a castle is a stretch, but what remains is defendable to some extent. Ruins are ruins and it takes a long time for stones to age. The enduring, stoic scribes of the earth whose language is history, nature and time.

Today the Blackened One makes his move.

Fourteen minutes.

Thirteen minutes, fifty-five seconds till the occupants return.

One minute to run from his hill and reach the treeline.

Subtle magnetism manipulating air compressions to muffle and if possible, mute sounds produced as he runs on the grass and dirt.

Five seconds to reach a deep ditch.

Not like he counts in his head anymore.

With his velocity a mere hop is sufficient to clear a trench and a jump over the thick, olden walls. Many feet of stone, mortar and brick proved futile to the wild man's strength and agility. Just enough energy spent for a large arc, the apex nearly centered over the wall. He tucks himself into a ball spinning forward. His head barely missing the protruding stones from the wall. As he forms the obtuse angle and passes the wall he quickly uncurls himself. One leg forward, the other folded, he leans back the moment he touches the ground as he slides a few feet and takes off running.

He looks up and runs straight for a couple yards and makes a sharp left, leaps up and over the shoddy ramp made of rubble and infiltrates the remnants of the keep.

Lifeless.

Dull.

Empty.

Void.

The occupants are careful to leave the impression that death still silently presides over these ruins.

Silence.

Dust float aimlessly as if the particles are unwilling to determine their own path. Thick layers of dust lie on whatever remains. Even the cold stone seems unsatisfied with the dust…

Cold.

Unsatisfied.

Silent.

Forgotten.

Even the wind taunts the lethargic keep as it barely echoes. The wind that brushes against the keep's walls as if the wind wants to breathe life into the keep. It is futile.

The wild man's bare feet are covered in dust as he rummages through the occupants' belongings. Only the muffled knocking of his tools in his fur pouch around his waist are barely audible to his extraordinary hearing. He moves silently as if he were haunting the floors.

He goes up another floor.

This one has a window, but wood covers the opening. Rays of light struggle to penetrate the shadow. But in this low light, his eyes adjust. He sees a few beds.

Mold.

Search fast.

He quickens his pace, feral ears up and alert. He places one hand on the bed and it's cold. He does this with the other 3 beds. Aside from the beds is a small, wooden stand barely big enough for a simple book, a fragile wooden chair and a large sack of spoiled flour laid against the north wall below the window.

He climbs the next floor and it's the same arrangement.

The top floor, unlike all the other rooms, has a door.

The wild man instead heads down the stairs part way to a window. He pokes his head out, looks and sees enough damage on the Keep's exterior to serve as surfaces to climb.

Six minutes.

Dense foliage.

Could he be seen?

He reaches the only window of the top floor facing southwest and sees it has no obstructions. And as he sticks his head in…Musket fire is heard from within the woods. An explosion in the next moment followed by the roar of the creature he lured. He retracts his head to twist his body and he looks southwest. He sees a small plume of smoke through a hole in the leaves.

Blinks once.

A long moment passes.

Blinks again.

He can hear wind scrape along the vigilant stones.

…

…

…

A second explosion is heard followed by two muskets firing.

He decides to climb into the window and as his eyes adjust he sees floor. He removes the stone from his mouth, obtained earlier, and throws it into the center of the floor. The stone shatters.

He deems it safe to walk on the floor.

Two minutes later the group of men are near the wall. They spread out and inspect the immediate vicinity. The wild man's tracks are discovered.

The wild man grabs a few shards of the stone he threw earlier and throws them against the door. He hears the heavy footsteps of a well-armored warrior rush up the stairs and the lighter steps of a likely less-armored combatant. The two people silently open the door, a shield is brandished by the heavily armored person...they clear the room finding nothing. Wordlessly the lighter equipped person quietly descends the stairs and readies a knife and short bow. The Ranger, holding his knife nears the window and slowly peeks through to the outside.

Nothing unusual to see. But the Ranger pulls away from the window, leans against the wall and listens as the grip on the knife tightens.

The wild man is outside on the wall, holding his position on the damaged surface in between floors.

The wild man slowly climbs and scrapes on the wall a couple times. He uses one finger and picks at a hole in the wall. The wild man scrapes on the wall again and resumes his silent descent along the wall's old scar.

As the wild man passes by a window he hears speech.

"...a Kouluk bird again. We know a pair have been nesting on the damaged south wall right before the last floor."

"Let's be sure. How many…"

The rest remained unknown to the wild man as he climbed down the keep's exterior. The other two men, however, were still outside. One was inspecting the tracks by the ditch and the other tracing the footprints inside the walls. Nobody was able to notice the wild man leave at the northeast barricade. Though this "barricade" was made of branches and large stones.

Normally one wouldn't think of crawling through that without leather armor. Back in the keep's heyday, people who tried to crawl through it, under it or climb over it would suffer cuts all over their body. Many would-be infiltrators and criminals tried to cover up infected wounds and their blood gave away their trail. But the wild man's skin is thicker and tougher. His fur pouch got caught a couple times, but his slow pace made it easy to undo.

Now it is late in the afternoon, the wild man waits hidden high up in a tree with a squirrel in his mouth, watching the defunct castle and its four occupants.

" _...and don't blame yourself for looking for patterns."_

" _Sir, how long have you been doing this?"_

 _A pregnant pause…_

" _About three-hundred years now."_

 _The Scout apprentice finished cleaned his scope and whispered another question._

" _So why the scars?"_

 _The Leader answered, "Sometimes ya need to take a hit. So it's good to know where ya can. It's always risky and everyone has a different body. Even with about three centuries of experience, trying to calculate whether or not I will be struck where I want always introduces more risks that can't always be controlled or at least influenced."_

 _The Scout apprentice grabs another scope, dips his rag in cleaning alcohol and wipes a lens._

" _My time module is bugged again. Sir, what was the line of code again?"_

 _The Leader chuckled._

" _Ya don't always have ta call me that. Ah know we're brought up with regulations, but remember: we ain't even paramilitary. You don't always have to refer to me as 'sir'."_

The wild man awakens from the memory. He recoils, hitting the back of his head against the tree and it echoes.

He looks south and sees a fire be put out.

Phantom images of the memory refuse to go away.

Hearty yells and fingers pointed towards the trees.

An archer readies his bow.

" _Oh, uh. It's not that-"_

Slashed, blood flows.

A hand, grips and tears.

" _How long do you think we'll be fighting?"_

" _I'm unsure. War is never certain. But this isn't war. We're fighting to survive."_

" _Samson told me that."_

Steel is penetrated.

A shocked expression.

But the voice is quiet.

Lips move, but no air passes.

 _The Leader sits and sharpens his knife with his teeth._

" _Why bone?"_

 _The Leader stops and silently looks at his bone knife gripped in his hand._

" _...feels right."_

" _Why not take the standard issue?"_

" _This feels right."_

 _The Leader seems to be lost as he murmurs things. They're intelligible._

The hatchet crushes more bones, the ribcage is shattered.

But the killer is relentless. Repeatedly hacking away into the body as life itself is chopped in pieces.

There is blood all over.

The shield became the sword.

 _They went on a quick excursion for some food. He flushed out the game from the pond and beneath the hot pink sun the creature shimmered. Automatic fire pierced the natural armor and the game fell. He used his bone knife to make an incision into the throat. Then used a scraper to separate the flesh from the bone._

The cuirass now had a few fist-sized holes. A corpse had a unique hole where you could see segments of the spine hanging by thin sinew, but that's because a large portion was broken, ripped apart.

 _He breaks from his trance._

" _Sometimes I have visions...of...running through valleys and hiding in...tall grass and...stalking bigger, sleeker predators. Tall, heavy beasts...with bones curling...from...their faces...and thick, warm...fur. Stone, bone and sun. Caves. Caves...caves...caves…...and fire. And I'm scraping skin from bone."_

 _He returns to his visions, caught up in some rapture of unknown design. But he manages to say one last thing, "We are all we have left."_

The wild man looks at his kill, straddling the waist. He removes the heavily dented helmet, cutting flesh as it's removed.

 **Human.**

The wild man sees the face of an aged man. Thick, brown beard and greying in some areas. Copper colored eyes, Long, thick, dark colored hair with small braids on the left side.

But was overcome by him.

Weathered, hardy and enduring. Dirt and fresh blood are specks and streaks on the knight's face. Patches of the knight's beard was missing and replaced with dark, ugly burns. Blistered, red skin on the right cheek and above the left eyebrow; second degree burns.

 _The Scout apprentice watches his Leader tend to the kill. With great care, he reverently uses primitive bone tools. As he describes his visions, the Scout feels like he's looking into the past. Suddenly, the Leader looks up. He looks the Scout square in the eye and says, "This is what we are. This is why, despite all our technology, our sciences and maths, guns, gunships, tanks, APC's, high-frequency weapons, nukes, nuclear stuffs, atomizers, flux storage and so on...this is why we must remember what we are, who we are, where we come from. All of our progress will be meaningless if we abandon what makes us great. What makes you great. What makes myself great."_

The wild man sat there consumed by phantoms of the past.

Centuries ago he was a different man.

From memories come pain.

Pain must be suppressed.

Pain must be suppressed.

Forget.

Forget.

...a breeze picks up…

The feral man sniffs the air once and smells blood. The third man, a triangle class mage has rolled over to his stomach. He has something in his hand that he looks at. He mutters something and his head is slowly lowered into the moist, red soil. He rises and walks over to the dead mage. With his foot he lifts the body high enough to see parchment in the dirt. Kicking the body away a few feet he grabs the parchment.

Can't read.

Throw it away.

Though the Blackened One is unable to read Romalian, it read more or less like a sorrowful goodbye from one lover to another.

The feral man did notice one thing before throwing the parchment away: the seal of Romalian Papacy.

Seals, logos, emblems, crests, ect. Patterns usually imply a group of people and where there are groups of people there tends to be settlements. And if there are settlements there must be supply lines. And who would organize and coordinate them? And from where?

The Blackened One stands tall and looks at the treeline. He runs into the wild woods again.

* * *

The Beast has wandered the barren land many times now. How long? The Beast has forgotten, stopped counting. Stopped counting the years since the Master began his long slumbers.

But this is the longest one yet.

The Beast yearns for his Master to awaken.

The Master has aged. A long, white beard. Balding. But his body is still as muscular and bears all the scars from a long, long time ago. Experience, the story of his life etched into his body. Embedded into their minds are lessons taught by Experience and the Enemy. Both in their lifetime and from times long before. What great a time it must have been…

But the Beast hasn't forgotten. The Beast will continue to watch over and defend the Master as he sleeps.

Once every so often, the Beast attempts to wake the Master. Soft nudges, low growls and guttural barks.

Nothing pierces the veil of silence. The Beast silently carries the fear that this will be the final sleep.

The Beast doesn't want the silence to last forever. So the Beast sits beside the Master and quietly looks at the Master's face. Wishing to go on more hunts together.

"Please…"

* * *

 **Author's Notes** :

Hey hey heeeeeeeyy! Guess who updated? ME! I've decided that, from now on, all the _flashbacks that are in italics_ will be Align Center instead of Align Left. If there is any _italicized text_ that is not Center Aligned then it's part of the flashback that I missed.

About that letter at the end, if y'all want to know what it says then vote at the poll on my profile! It will offer some insight about...well, I won't say it-that would be spoilers. :P

Y'all have a good one and thanks for reading!


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